Forced to Fight
by Flamefox7
Summary: They call for you. The god who became a slave. The slave who became a gladiator. The gladiator who defied an emperor. A striking story, now the people want to see how the story ends. Loki is banished to earth for his wrongs against Asgaurd and is forced to fight as a gladiator.
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first time actually putting something on this site... so yeah hope you like it! I don't know if I should continue this or not so please review and tell me if I should. If I do new chapters will come out maybe once a week, I have school Moday through Friday so I will try to squeeze in some time to write.**

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Loki blinked as dust and debris rained down. He sat up in the small crater, head spinning and vision blurred.

_Where am I?_

He stood up slowly but the dizzying weakness caused him to wobble on his feet. Cuts and scratches covered his face and any skin showing was not left unscathed. Blood dripped down his forehead from a tear above his left eyebrow. Loki raised his hand to investigate and his fingertips came back red.

_Blood? The fall must have injured me more than I expected. But why do I feel so enervated?_

The Alfather's words returned and Loki clenched his fists angrily, fingernails digging into the skin on his palms.

_As punishment for your devious acts you are to be banished to the realm of Midguard, stripped of your power until you prove yourself worthy of the House of Odin. _

Loki brushed himself of, glaring at the desolate landscape in discontent. There was no green, only miles of dry dust and stones. A few rocky outcroppings dotted the scene but besides that there was no shelter or protection from the elements.

_Stranded on Midguard trapped in the form of a mortal and without my magic, splendid._

He squinted, searching for any forms of life in this blistering desert. In the distance he could make out what seemed to be buildings. Loki took a few unsteady steps towards them, wincing as sudden pain shot through his leg. He looked down; a long gash raked its way down the side of his right thigh. There was something lodged in the flesh, something that seemed to be a sharp stone. A stone that would only dig deeper if not removed. But if he ripped it out, there would be nothing to stop the bleeding. He would have to leave it for now.

Loki gritted his teeth, slowly putting each foot in front of the other, cursing as his leg almost gave out. But he continued to tread toward the faint objects in the distance.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

Loki had been walking for days under the scorching sun. His progress was agonizingly slow. His throat felt as if he had swallowed sand and his breaths were short and raspy. With each sharp intake it seemed like his very lungs were on fire. On top of that Loki was limping badly, laboring his efforts even further. The wound that tore open his leg was constantly letting out a steady trickle of blood and the black leather covering it was soon wet and sticky to the touch.

Yet he continued his endless trek because the structures in the distance were his only hope for survival. Loki hadn't eaten for days, but right now his thirst far outweighed his hunger. His feet have been dragging in the dust for miles and his leg felt numb, ether from loss of blood or endless pain. As expected the jagged rock dug its way deeper into the tendons and muscle, ripping everything in its path. The headache never left, growing worse with each passing day until it felt like a dagger was pushing its way through his skull. If he didn't drink soon, he would die of dehydration.

Loki stumbled and fell down on his hands and knees.

_No. I must get up, I must keep going. _

Clenching his teeth Loki forced himself to stand. He bit down hard to prevent a moan from escaping his lips as the explosive pain raced through his thigh. He took another excruciating step and felt the muscle tear once more. He finally collapsed, unable to go any further. His body had failed him.

_I can't do it. I'm going to die alone on this Norn forsaken realm and be left here for the sand to cover me. No one will ever know what happened to Loki god of mischief._

Loki rolled over onto his back and stared up blankly at the blinding sun. His vision swam and the world felt like spinning around him. But a sound was heard over his harsh wheezing, a faint sound but slowly growing louder, the thunder of horses' hooves. Against his will Loki's eyes closed as blackness flooded his mind.

He could go no further.

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**Thanks for reading! Again please tell me if you think I should continue or not. Reveiws are always appreciated. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Ok here's chapter two, hope you guys enjoy! Tell me if you like it!**

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The two Bedouins stop their horses in front of a man lying motionless on the ground. One dismounts and walks over to the lifeless figure, inspecting it curiously. Was this what they saw limping across the desert? Long black hair rests at the man's shoulders and his skin is pale, odd compared to the people usually found in this part of the Roman province. The Bedouin turns to his friend who simply shrugs.

"Hada mish huy?" (This one's not alive?)

"Ma adri." (I don't know)

The dismounted brigand nudges the limp body with a sandaled foot, looking for signs of life. After a few seconds he noticed the faint falling and rising of his chest.

"Huy!" (He's alive!)

"Kalbash'hu. Hada mish huy." (Shackle him. This one's still alive.)

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Loki blinks, bright light blaring in his emerald eyes and heat searing his skin. The nervous cackling of a hyena and the roar of a lion fill his ears. Eyes widening in alarm Loki barley manages to lift his head, finding that he is lying flat on a wagon. He has been stripped of his Asgaurdian attire and now wears only a simple servant's tunic, a leather belt around his waist. His hands are bound and lie limp at his sides, looking around franticly Loki tries to think of a way to escape. Just as he tries to sit up a wave of dizzying nausea hits him and he fades into the darkness once more.

A hooded man glares down, wondering how such filth found its way onto his caravan. Surely it was not worth bringing to Zuccabar, in this condition a slave was hardly worth anything. He glances at the blood flowing freely from a large gash on the man's leg. No, this slave would not last in the area.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

A few hours later Loki wakes again, this time hearing a soft voice instead of growling beasts.

"Don't die; they will feed you to the lions. They are worth a man than we are."

He looks up and sees a face above his, a man with dark skin is looming over him. Loki mindlessly reaches for his leg and winces as his fingertips brush the torn flesh, the stone is still lodged in his thigh.

The same voice speaks again.

"No. They will clean it. Wait and see"

The dark-skinned man turns his attention to Loki's injury, removing a paste from his mouth and gently placing it on the gaping wound, creating a sort of poultice that Loki can only guess at. He bites his lip as blinding pain erupts, preventing a faint whimper from escaping his throat. But almost instantly the pain is gone, a soothing cool replaces the burning agony. The man gives a comforting smile.

"Better now? Clean. You see?"

Loki has just enough energy to nod in agreement.

Suddenly the wagon stops as the whole caravan slows to a halt. The first carts had made their way into the city and a few minutes later Loki is hauled from the wagon and forced to stand. He wobbles on his feet, trying to keep pressure off his right leg. Men line him and the dark-skinned man (Who Loki learned was called Juba) up with the 20 or so other slaves. Loki limps along as they lead the group to a marketplace and under a large tent-like structure. One by one the slaves, including Loki, are chained to the posts holding up the palm leaf shade. He is shoved to the ground along with the other men that share the wooded post. A brigand offers the slaves a small amount of soiled water which Loki gulps down in an instant, ignoring the foul taste.

_Finally some water, how I've longed for such a precious thing. _

Loki glares at the Bedouins in hatred, fists clenching and unclenching a sudden rage rises.

_How dare they treat me in such a way? I am a god and a prince of Asgaurd, yet they see me no more than the lowliest of creatures. I will make them pay for such acts towards the son of Odin!_

Finally two men appear and begin eyeing the new stock. One is obviously a slave trader, and the other one perhaps a potential buyer. The customer, an older man with graying hair and a short beard walk over to Juba, motioning him to stand.

"Get up," he barks

Juba does as commanded and stands still while the older man inspects him, slapping his body and checking for muscle tone. When he is done the man speaks to Juba again, his tone impatient.

"What was your Trade?"

Juba lifts his chin before answering. "I was a hunter"

The slave trader steps between the two. "No, no I bought him from a salt mine in Carthage"

As soon as the old man turns away the slave trader signals for Juba to sit.

"Sit down" he whispers.

The two men proceed towards where Loki is sitting lifeless in the dirt. The buyer looks him over, spotting the festering wound on his leg.

"A deserter?" he asks the slave trader.

"Maybe, but who cares? He's a Spaniard"

_A Spaniard, what is that? More importantly what makes them think I am such a thing?_

"I will take 6 for 1,000"

The slave trader turns to the older man, bewildered. "1,000? The Numidian alone is worth 2,000!"

"These slaves are rotten!" he replies, unimpressed.

"It adds to the flavor"

The buyer turns to leave as the trader tries to grab his shoulder. "No, no, wait, wait, wait we can negotiate!"

"I'll give you 2,000 and four for the beasts. That's 5,000 for an old friend."

"Fine Proximo, just this once"

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**Well there you have it... I might have time to start a new chapter tomorrow and hopefully it will be up by this weekend. Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry this took so long, I was really busy. Anyway thanks for waiting and hope you enjoy!**

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Loki stood in a straight line along with the others, silently waiting to be told why he was here.

This was his third day on his buyer's property.

When he first arrived at this prison-like training area, the healers made an effort to remove the stone from his thigh. The whole process was agonizingly slow and almost left his leg more mangled than before. The wound was now bandaged with simple cloth and a dull throbbing never faded. But with that damned rock gone, his body could finally have a chance to heal itself. Along with simple medical care he was given a small amount of food and water each day and slept in the slave's quarters that were more like cells than actual rooms.

Standing in that line Loki tried to keep his weight on his good leg, lifting his right foot off the ground just a little and balancing on the other. After what seemed like ages of waiting in the intense heat, the older man with the graying hair appeared from around the sand-colored building that was his house. He inspected the group of men in front of him before speaking in his usual harsh tone.

"I am Proximo. I shall be closer to you for the next few days which will be the last of your miserable lives than that bitch of a mother that brought you screaming into this world. I did not pay good money for you for your company. I paid it so that I could profit from your death and as your mother was there at your beginning, so I shall be there at your end. And when you die, and die you shall, your transition will be to the sound of…"

Proximo clapped his hands before continuing, mimicking the sound of applause.

"Gladiators, I salute you"

Loki stared back in disbelief.

_What? _

That man just told him was he would be trained to fight and when good enough he would be forced to battle against other armed men for pure entertainment. He was only an item of sport, expected to die sooner or later.

It disgusted him. The fact that mortals_ watch _men tear each other apart, it was disturbing. It was barbaric! And they don't just watch it, they _enjoy _it.

_Surely there must be a mistake, I am not a gladiator, I will never be a gladiator! _

Loki glared at that horrid man in anger, his green eyes burning with hatred. He wanted to end the creature's life right now and see his blood stain the ground a deep red as it pooled around his pathetic, putrid body.

_I will not fight for you! I will not die simply because you people need something to watch! Do you even know who I am? I am Loki of Asguard and the son of Odin, I am a god!_

But there was no way to escape his intimate fate. He would do battle; there was no way around it.

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The next day the slaves were rounded up for training. Loki waited under the shade of a tan canvas, watching as the new recruits were tested for skill and courage. Proximo could be heard shouting "yellow" and "red" from somewhere else in the training area. Loki sat on a small wooden bench protruding from the wall he was slumped against. He hated being treated like this, like his life was of no value. His only purpose was to entertain the crowd. He glared at Proximo, anger flaring once again.

_It's his fault I'm here. I should have died in that Norn forsaken desert or at least on the way to this infested city. But he just had to find me and assume I was just the right thing for his battles. _

Loki let out an exasperated sigh.

_I wonder what Thor is doing now that I'm gone, probably being pampered like the lap dog he is. Why do I care, he doesn't even know I exist half of the time. I will most likely never see him again._

But there was an aching feeling in his heart that weighed it down like a stone, he missed Thor. Loki quickly pushed away the unnecessary emotion, focusing on the scene in front of him.

Right now Juba was being tested and Loki watches as he is handed a small wooden sword. Proximo's lead gladiator attacks first and Juba responds by attacking back.

"Good, red" barks Proximo

The gladiator gives Juba a small nod of respect for having earning the red spot that was being painted on his tunic, he turns to Loki, who is sitting unconcerned in the shade.

"Spaniard!"

Loki looked slowly from side to side, hoping that gladiator called for someone else. When no one moved he ground his teeth and stood up, walking slowly over to him.

_Why do you call me that? _

When Loki is handed a wooden sword he looks at it for a moment, then tosses it to the ground, refusing to take part.

_I will not fight for you. _

The gladiator looks to Proximo for direction. Proximo nods and the gladiator slams the broad side of his sword into Loki's stomach. Loki stumbles backwards, slouching over, but pulls himself upright. The gladiator is about to strike him again, this time aiming for his neck, but Proximo stops him.

"That's enough for now. His time will come"

Loki gives the gladiator a look of defiance as a yellow spot is painted on his tunic. He limps back to reclaim his spot in the shade, not participating in any other training exercises for the rest of the day.

_ I will not fight for you._

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When it is time to retire for the night Loki walks to the farthest corner of the slave's quarters. He sinks to the dusty floor, his back resting against the stone wall and hands laying flat on his slender legs.

Juba stands in the doorway, noticing how lifeless the man in front of him looks. His long black hair was unkempt and his green eyes were hazy and distant. He walks towards him and then sits down a few feet away, giving Loki a worried glance.

"Spaniard, why don't you fight? We all have to fight."

When Loki doesn't answer Juba stares down at his hands, realizing that no one had ever heard this man talk. Maybe he couldn't speak.

Juba tries again "Can you speak, Spaniard?"

"Yes" he murmurs, voice raspy.

"Good, because I have been wanting a person to talk to." Juba hesitated, unsure of what to say. "What is your name?"

"Loki" was the quiet reply.

Juba gave a small smile before continuing. "My name is Juba, I am pleased to meet you, Loki"

Loki continues to stare blankly at the ground, feet shifting uneasily. What did this man what from him?

_Maybe he doesn't want anything. Or maybe all he wants is someone to share a few words with, someone to eventually call friend, but not someone like me. He may be an ally tonight, then an enemy tomorrow. I can't trust him, at least for now. _


	4. Chapter 4

**Here you go my peeps! Hope you like it and P.S. thanks to all of you who read this.**

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Loki had been training for months, and now it was finally time. Time to battle in the arena and to please the crowd that watched him and the others make their way through the marketplace. Dogs bark and vultures circle while brightly colored banners flap in the wind. Each of Proximo's slaves are shackled to a wooden pole and led through the entrance of the small fighting area. The excited crowd cheers as the new gladiators come into view; they cannot wait to see the bloodshed and violence to come. Newly dyed yarn is hung overhead and the red liquid dripped down, Loki ducks a little to prevent it from getting on his face, but the rest of his exposed skin is soon covered in red. Proximo is a few paces behind the group, protected from the dye with a large umbrella. The lead gladiator, who Loki has come to know as Hagen, spoke in his ear.

"The gods favor you. Red is the gods color. You will need their help today"

Loki bit down hard on his tongue, preventing the words that fill his mind from spilling out.

_Gods? I am a god you dull creature! There is no one that favors me today and I certainly don't need their help! _

They are unshackled from the post and directed into a room under the small arena. The crowd above stomps their feet and chant, dust seeping through the boards of the roof. Loki, along with the others, sits down on a wooden bench affixed to the wall and listens as Proximo gives them one final prep-talk.

"Some of you are thinking that you won't fight, some that you can't fight. They all say that until they are out there. Listen"

Proximo pauses as the mob continues to cheer and stamp their feet, anxious for the battle to come. He pulls a sword from the rack above the slaves' heads and jabs it forward, his form perfect.

"Thrust this into another man's flesh, and they will applaud and love you for that. You…"

He jabs forward again.

"you may begin to love them for that"

Proximo slams the sword point into a wooden table in front of the men. Loki stares at him, green eyes blank. All this time he had been trying to avoid this moment, the moment he would fight and kill for the man he hated. But slowly, that burning despise was turning into respect, and Loki hated him even more for that.

"Ultimately, we are all dead men" Proximo continued. "We cannot choose how, but we can decide how we meet that end in order that we are remembered as men."

Proximo's words echo the Alfather's, for he had given this same speech to his men before battle, Loki has heard it before. He sighs, he must fight. If he is to die he will die with honor.

The men are paired up, the ones with red on their tunic are put with the ones with yellow. Loki is chained with Juba and Hagen is paired with a small, frail scribe. Soon they are lined up, waiting for the gates to open and hell to be unleashed. Juba looks at Loki, his expression grim, but he gives a small nod of encouragement. Loki can't help but to nod back, he hopes that both he and Juba will survive, right now they are not enemies, but friends. He glances at Hagen who has is eyes closed in prayer. Loki is armed with only a sword and a small wooden shield, along with Juba. He wears no armor, just his simple tunic and if a weapon was to find its way past his shield, one well-aimed thrust could end him. Loki's heart thumps wildly in his chest and his muscles stiffen. He lets out a shaky breath, fear steadily creeping through his body and clouding his mind. He does not want to die.

Then the doors burst open and the first thing Loki sees is an armored andabata take out the man to his right. When the spiked ball collides with his skull blood flies and a wet, crunching sound fills his ears, the crowd cheers. A dozen gladiators await them and are closing in. They wear huge iron helmets and tunics of chainmail, their arms sheathed in plates of jointed metal. The tyrants carry swords, battle axes, and tridents.

Side by side, their chain dangling between them, Loki and Juba enter the arena and fight as one. Through the blinding dust he sees Juba is under attack from an andabata wielding both a large sword and a broadaxe. Loki joins the fight, releasing the anger and hatred he has been pushing down for so long. He dodges the brute's axe and thrusts his own sword forward, slaying his attacker with one blow. Juba is surprised to see him attack with such ferocity, this man had always seemed so lifeless during training, but now he was proving to be a forced to be reckoned with. He was concentrating hard; he could see it in his green eyes. The way he moved, it was graceful, yet deadly and combined with dangerous precision.

When Juba is about to be struck down by a gladiator behind him Loki yanks the chain, pulling him out of danger. He blocks the oncoming sword and stabs the andabata in the chest, his thrust so powerful the blade emerges from the man's back. He smiles at the satisfying feeling of his sword going through flesh and bone. Loki quickly glances at Hagen who is fighting with such power that he drags his weaker partner along. The scribe is killed by a gladiator, Hagen swings and ends the gladiator and slices through the wrist of the dead scribe, freeing the chain. The chain attached to his own wrist becomes another weapons, he swings it, electively taking out two more opponents. As the battle continues Hagen lifts a man and impales him on a horn adorning the side of the arena.

The blood and gore that continue to fly through the air often accompanied by the excited cheering of the mob watching from above the arena. Loki swings his shield, barely blocking an oncoming attack. The blade nearly makes it past his shield and leaves his arm with a bloody gash. Just as he prepares to stab the andabata through the neck Juba swings his sword powerfully and kills him. He gives Loki a small nod and they turn to see one last gladiator carrying a handled trident. Juba takes position behind and over Loki's shoulder, both of the men's swords pointed towards the final enemy. As the gladiator attacks Loki and Juba dodge the trident, and then turn it onto its user. They piece the metal weapon into his mid-section. They stand back, exhausted, then stare in disbelief as the gladiator pulls the trident out of his stomach and stands ready. Loki and Juba spin then garrote the gladiator with their chain; they stab together, finishing the last opponent.

The crowd erupts in excitement as the "new gladiators" look around at the carnage. Mangled bodies lie everywhere and the ground is stained red. Loki glares at the mob in disgust then turns, pulling Juba along. He makes is way to the door that led to the entrance of the arena, ignoring the cheering crowd. He wants nothing to do with them.

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**That was my longest chapter yet! I will try to post more soon and please reveiw to tell me if you like it. A little goes a long way when you are writing and it really lifts your to hear back from your readers! **


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